


The Dinner

by putconspiraciesinit



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: Aaron Burr is So Done, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Tension, Dinner, Gen, Interrogation, Politics, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Unresolved Tension, post-Burr vice presidency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 02:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18356609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: The awkward dinner between Jefferson and Burr in 1805 a few months after the election actually did happen, and also appears in the play I wrote about the Burr conspiracy--however, that play being a straight comedy, I couldn't really do it justice, so this fic came into existence.





	The Dinner

The dining table was massive, usually reserved for occasions where enough people would be in attendance to warrant the use of such a table; there was, in fact, a much smaller dining room where the president would usually eat dinner. Tonight, the very large formal table was set--for only two people, at opposite ends. President Jefferson was already seated at his end of the table, staring intently at the grandfather clock in one corner of the room, glancing at other various spots or simply off into space every so often. His guest was set to arrive in about a minute, and he was never late. 

 

When he arrived, Aaron Burr looked somehow more immaculate than Jefferson had ever seen him. He’d gained weight since leaving the cabinet. There was more color to his skin. He looked  _ healthier _ , which subtly irritated Jefferson almost as much as Burr’s obnoxiously bright pink suit, which he pulled off annoyingly well. Nobody should be allowed to look good in a hot pink suit. But there Burr was, doing exactly that.

 

The professional smile on his face was almost convincing, but Jefferson knew Burr wasn’t fond of him, and  _ definitely _ was  _ not _ happy to see him.

 

“Good evening, Mr. President,” he said, in an almost robotic sort of voice.

“Good evening, Burr,” came the equally artificial reply. 

Though he must have noticed the lack of honorifics, Burr did not react visibly. He sat down at his end of the table, a dramatic number of feet across from his former employer. Neither man even touched his food. All was completely silent for several seconds.

 

“So.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Mr. President?”

“It has.”

“I have to say, of all the invitations to dine I’ve received since the end of my term, yours was certainly the most unexpected.”

“I can imagine.”

“So... is there something you wish to discuss? Forgive me my bluntness, but I don’t think I could bring myself to believe you of all people would invite me here to dine with you purely for the company.”

“There is, actually, something to be discussed here.”

“Then let us please discuss it.”

 

Jefferson’s fists clenched under the table. He had figured Burr would be more infuriating than ever now, now that he no longer had to submit to Jefferson’s every whim or else risk his livelihood, but that knowledge still wasn’t, apparently, enough to really prepare him.

 

“I hear you’ve been busy these past few months.”

“That is an incredibly vague accusation, sir, even from you.”

 

Jefferson had never thought he would think back fondly to the days when Burr had been his vice president, but he had also forgotten how nice it felt to just  _ punch _ the man when he made comments like that. Little sarcastic quips that were just blatant enough to remind Jefferson that his own hatred for Burr was just about matched by Burr’s hatred for him. He took a deep breath, and continued.

 

“You’ve been on tour, giving speeches, attending public functions...and apparently, you’ve quite a bit to say about myself and my government.”

“Mr. Jefferson, do you recall our first conversation, back in ‘95? When you asked me to be your campaign manager for the election of the following year?”

“No, and I do not care enough to try.”

“Then I shall recall it for you. You told me that you were a quiet man. A shy man, daunted by public speeches and events, hardly able to talk about yourself for even a minute.”

“I told you the truth, then.”

“You did. You then said that you needed somebody like me to sell you as a public figure--indeed, that it would take somebody as sociable as myself to accomplish such a feat.”

“This is entirely irrelevant, Burr.”

“No, it is not. Sir, think of my Western tour as me doing for you the same... _ favor _ which you did for me in 1802. Publicity, my dear Mr. Jefferson.”

Jefferson rose from his chair with a furious snarl.

“Why, you little--”

“Sit back down, Mr. President. I am not your subordinate, now.”

He sat back down, still fuming.

“I may not be able to lay hands on you, but I am still your president. I would not advise crossing me, dearest Burr.”

“Sir, please. You know as well as I do that nothing I’ve been up to these past few months has been illegal. You brought me here to intimidate me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“I think it just might. I know you’re plotting  _ something _ , and you are not leaving this room until--well, for one, until your dinner is finished--and until you fill me in on what  _ exactly _ that something might be.”

 

For a split second, Burr’s smile faltered. Such a small fraction of a second that a normal person might not have even noticed, but Jefferson was a very observant man, and he most certainly did notice.

“It is nothing that should concern you, Mr. President.”

“Then tell me about it, Burr. Convince me your plans shouldn’t concern me.”

“Sir, what could I possibly be planning that  _ could _ concern you? I’ve no money, and two different states have just finished practically flipping coins for the privilege of having me executed! I am not a threat to you.”

“ _ Convince me _ .”

“An expedition to the Western frontier, sir. That is all. It isn’t even properly in the planning stages yet.”

 

Burr stood up.

“I must take my leave now; I’ve a ball to attend in about two hours.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“Seeing you again has thoroughly taken away my appetite.”

“You haven’t convinced me of anything, either.”

“Mr. President,” said Burr, in a very no-nonsense sort of tone, “with all due respect, my intentions in accepting your invitation were never to change your opinion of me. To be quite frank, your personal approval is something that at this point I neither require nor in the slightest desire. I like myself well enough for the both of us, and I trust my own plans well enough as well. Good day, sir.”

And with this, he strode over to the door, picked the lock on it before Jefferson could even register that he was picking it, and left Jefferson to consume himself with paranoia alone in the thoroughly-oversized dining room for the exchange which had just occurred.


End file.
